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Geth, I wouldn't ride him not even if I rode as well as you, which I don't. That horse has grown worse and worse these last months. He wants to kill some one, that's what he wants." Geth shook his head. "No use, Willet, trying to scare me. I know what I'm doing, eh Cuddy?" He went to the horse and rubbed the base of his ears.
He considered the horse unworthy of any distinction, but in his desire to please Geth, took pains to prepare Cuddy for his death and burial. Gething was still at the big house although it was four o'clock and the men on Break-Neck Hill were busy with their digging. Willet called them the sextons. "And we, Joey," he addressed a stable boy, "we're the undertakers. Handsome corpse, what?"
He mutht be thrown into an iron pot, with a gallon of therry cobbler, and a pumpkin pie, and thome baked beanth, and a copy of the Biglow Paperth, and a handful of thalt, and they mutht all thimmer together till he geth properly flavoured again." "Wouldn't it be safer if he was only dipped in?" asked the same "shrimp" who had spoken before.
It's more dangerous wipin' him off than to steeplechase the others." Geth agreed. "I know it isn't right to keep a brute like that." "No, sir. When he was young and winning stakes it seemed different. I tell you what, we'll all pay a dollar a cake for soap made out 'er old Cuddy."
"Heh, heh!" he blew through his nostrils. "Six steps nearer, Cuddy." Geth struck him lightly with his spurs. The horse paused by the bank and began rocking slightly. "Sist! be quiet," for they were on the spot Gething wished. The horse gathered himself, started to rear, then sprang into the air, cleared earth-mound and trench and bounded down the hill.
Not going to church this morning." This from a friend of his mother. "Good morning. No, not this morning." He met a chum. "Good riding day, eh?" "Great." "Well, Geth, don't break your neck." "You bet not." "I'll put a P.S. on the prayer for you," said the wag. "Thanks a lot." The wag was always late even to church on Easter morning. So Gething knew the tail of the deluge was reached and past.
Suddenly he acquiesced and quiet again, he took the sombre path. Geth thrust his right hand into his pocket, the revolver was still there. His hand left it and rested on the bobbing, tasseled mane. "Old man," he addressed the horse, "I know you don't know where you're going and I know you don't remember much, but you must remember Saratoga and how we beat them all.
"I think Cuddy's got something in his head, some plan if he gets out. I think he wants to kill some one before he dies. Yes, sir, kill him. And you know if he gets the start of you there is no stopping the dirty devil." "Yes, he does tear a bit," Geth admitted. "But I never was on a surer jumper. Lord! How the old horse can lift you!"
"He's just that much property and being of no more use is thrown away just like an old tin can. No more sense in burying one than the other. If I had my way about it I'd " But Geth entered. With his coat off he gave an impression of greater size, like Cuddy his lines were graceful enough to minimize his weight. "Hole dug? Well, let's saddle up and start out."
"Did you know, Phil," Bud Anderson said, "that Cuthter'th to have a grand review before the General and hith thtaff when he geth here to-morrow, and that'th all we'll thee of the thircuth. My! but I wish we could have been in that fight; don't you?"
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